ink stains
by Laura013
Summary: Every little moment, every bit of emotion, pain or joy, that Richard Castle felt, even a few off-camera moments, it's all here in writing. Because he is every bit as noble as Kate Beckett. And I wanted to do him justice. "And he couldn't wait to find out what happened next."


**Title**: ink stains

**Author**: Laura013

**Rating**: T (borderline M)

**Disclaimer**: The Castle series belongs to Andrew Marlowe and Terri Edda Miller. Although I will add that being a writer would be totally kick-ass, I highly doubt they hire high schoolers.

**Summary**: Every little moment, every bit of emotion, pain or joy, that Richard Castle felt, even a few off-camera moments, it's all here in writing. Because he is every bit as noble as Kate Beckett. And I wanted to do him justice. "And he couldn't wait to find out what happened next."

**Genre**: Crime/Romance. I mean it's basically Castle in writing, but with some other things.

**Chronology**: SPOILER FREE FOR SEASON SIX

**Pairings**: Castle/Beckett

**Dedication**: For the Jack Harkness to my Ianto Jones. You know who you are.

**Author's Note(s)**: Many people view Kate Beckett as the real "gem of Castle," but I find myself unable to agree with that. Of course, she shares the show with him, it's just as much 'Beckett' as it is 'Castle,' but there is something about Richard Castle that makes him feel more… relatable. I might not be a middle-aged man who's been married two times and has a daughter (female, quite a bit younger, never married, no kids) but I definitely find myself empathizing. He may not have had to see his mom's dead body in an alleyway (and while I cannot say I have experienced that firsthand, I know that losing my mom would be one of the hardest things to ever go through. If you're reading this, I love you, mom), but he has loved so much, and lost so much, and that's what made me fall in love with his characterization (and I mean that in the kindest, most platonic way possible). The way Nathan Fillion plays him… it pulls on my heartstrings more than any other character I have ever encountered. The way you can just _tell_ how Castle is supposed to be feeling by the glint in his eyes, the fact that he can _control_ his emotions to such an extent that just by squinting a little and welling up tears he can enslave a heart, it's extraordinary. His emotions are so _real_, so sad and all I want to do is hold him and tell him it will all be okay. He is one of the kindest, most honest, valuable, heart _wrenching_ characters that I have ever had the pleasure of encountering.

Also,_ Always_ was video-graphic _perfection_. I may or may not have watched that episode ten million times on my computer while I was supposed to be doing homework (sorry).

This is my tribute to Richard Castle. Every little moment, every little ounce of joy or pain that he felt, even a few off-camera moments, it's all here in writing. He may not be a crime-fighting superhero detective like Kate was, but he is still every _bit_ as noble, every _bit_ as lovable and caring. Sure, he may appear like a great big teddy bear, but every sacrifice he has made is just as noble as Superman. And I wanted to do him justice.

So thank you, Andrew Marlowe and Terri Edda Miller. Thank you for the beautiful creation that is the show Castle. If by some tiny, _tiny_ chance that you are on this website and you find this story, I hope it lives up to your expectations.

I'd like to mention my mom. Even though I'm a total stinker to live with, she puts up with me, and that is the most heroic thing I have ever seen. In all seriousness, she's my hero. I don't think I would survive one day in her shoes (I would have definitely murdered myself by now, really, I'm a pain to live with), because she's the most admirable person I have ever met, and no superhero is comparable, not even Kate Beckett. She's fantastic, not just as a mother, but also as a person in general, and I am so lucky to be her daughter. I love you, mom. Keep being the best.

Thank you to Lianna-snow, Person of Internet, hannahjn and CloudyDream for being my lovely betas. Special thanks to closingdoors for agreeing to look it over as well, even though you don't beta. It was a huge honor to be read by my favorite fanfiction author of all time (seriously please go check her stories out, she's extraordinary in every sense of the word).

* * *

It all started with the day they met. He'd been at the book signing for _hours_ and he was just about ready to call it quits and go home. The women at the party were pretty, but none of them really… caught his eye.

He sat down at the bar with Alexis, and they spoke for a while.

He found himself musing, "Just once, I'd like someone to come up to me and say something new."

Just then, he felt a tap on his shoulder. "Mr. Castle?" a feminine voice asked. He sighed and pulled out a pen, turning around.

"Where would you like it?" he mumbled, and then his eyes found the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had short, bouncy brown hair and hazel eyes that bit back sharper than King Arthur's sword. She stood tall and straight, not losing eye contact with him.

She smiled a little, but immediately hid it. "Detective Kate Beckett," she said, holding up her badge. "NYPD. We need to ask you a few questions about a murder that took place earlier tonight."

Castle stood, dumbfounded, and Alexis took the pen from his hands. "That's new," she said confidently.

She had no idea.

* * *

After a lot of hard work (well, Beckett put in a lot of hard work), they caught the killer. Castle had to say; he was rather bored with the ending. Brother of one of the victims? He wouldn't have written it that way.

He saw Detective Beckett turn around and take a deep breath. "Well," she said. "Guess this is it."

"Well," he shrugged, "doesn't have to be. We could, ah, go to dinner. Debrief each other," he added.

"Why, Castle?" she asked sarcastically. "So I can be another one of your conquests?"

"Or I could be one of yours," he added, smiling. But he knew from the glimmer in her eye she was far too special to put up with that. No, he knew she would give him hell before anything of _that_ sort would happen.

She pursed her lips, as if making a decision, and then she stuck out her hand. "It was nice to meet you, Castle," she said genuinely.

He took her hand, smiling. "It's too bad. Would've been great."

She bit her lip, smiling, and stepped flush against him, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. She made this kind of physical contact so much more comfortably than he did, when he had bent down to kiss her cheek, he had done it at an awkward, chunky pace, but Kate, no Kate was fluid as she pressed her lips to his ear.

"You have no idea," she whispered in his ear.

Normally when women saw him, they were in awe, but this time, it was Richard Castle's turn to be starstruck.

* * *

Castle hadn't known death like Kate, he hadn't had the time to get to know the ol' man before it slapped him in the face. No one he knew well, no one he really cared about had died. He didn't know how to handle it, how to react to the bare nudity of someone else's grief.

He had persuaded Esposito to get him Johanna Beckett's file. Although Kate had made him promise not to, he knew he couldn't put it down.

As soon as he saw the photo in the file, he knew she looked familiar.

_"Whom should I make it out to?" he had asked, not bothering to look up._

_A sweet, kind voice answered him. "Johanna," it said. _

_He wiped his purple-cuffed wrist across his brow and signed:_

_To Johanna,_

_With love,_

_Richard Castle_

_He handed the book back to her, but she didn't go. He finally looked up into her hazel eyes and said, if not a little impatiently, "Did you need anything else, Johanna?"_

_She blushed a little, smiling. "Can I get a photo with you? My daughter and I… we're huge fans. I wish she could be here right now but she—"_

_He cut her off, needing to spare time for as many fans as possible. "Of course," he said, smiling a little too quickly. _

_She handed the gray camera to the man behind her, who snapped the photo, and just like that, Johanna Beckett was off._

Castle flipped the photo in his hands, having taken it off of Detective Beckett's desk when no one was looking. He had met her. He had actually met Beckett's mom, and he hadn't even _cared._

And now she was dead, and he felt a little bit guilty for not giving her the time of day. He made a vow to himself never to let that happen again. _How many of his other fans were dead?_

And although Kate _had_ made him promise not to, he couldn't resist the curiosity. So many people lived for the destination, for the ending, but he lived for the _story._

And Kate Beckett's story was one he wanted to read.

* * *

Two years slipped by like the blink of an eye and the dynamic duo was pulled back into the thrusts of danger yet again.

_Pretend we're drunk, and maybe we'll slip past._ But Castle knew that the guard wasn't going to be so easily fooled, and he was right.

Kate hung on his arm as they walked—no, more like _stumbled,_ into the guard's view, but he didn't look too pleased. Kate kept mumbling something about Castles, and he pretended to snort, but the guard kept advancing, squinting eye trained on them as they got closer.

And then the guard reached into his coat and Castle saw his hands rest on a gun.

He had been in life-and-death situations before, working with a cop and all, but this time it felt so _final_, so serious. It felt like a moment, like one from his books, which could be kept, stored, savored away for another day, oh how he wished he could dog-ear this page and read it some other time.

It's Richard Castle's last five minutes on earth, what does he want to do with his time? _Hug Alexis and Martha goodbye,_ he thought, but that wasn't possible.

Then another thought bubbled to mind. One he hadn't considered for a long time. _I want to kiss Beckett._

Normally, he wouldn't have dreamed it. He wouldn't have thought of something like that, but _here,_ in _this_ moment, he was caught up.

The last memory he wanted was of Kate Beckett's lips on his own.

So he did it. He turned, looked her straight in the eye, and pressed his lips into hers. At first, she was still, and for a horrible moment he thought that she was going to slap him. But then she softened. She pulled back, looking in his eyes, shock and panic glistening off the hard, hazel surface, and then she pressed her lips back into his again.

He could feel her resisting slightly, as if there was something more preoccupying than _enjoying their last seconds,_ but he didn't notice it enough to care. He was so surrounded, so _engulfed_ by her. He had always thought she was gorgeous, but now, she was _beautiful._

And then she was gone.

He heard a loud 'thud' as the guard hit the floor. _Oh. It was all a ruse. Oh._

"That was… amazing," he said, before he was able to tell what slipped out of his mouth.

Beckett turned toward him, giving him a quizzical look.

"The… the way you knocked him out… I mean… it was…" he trailed.

"Let's go. Yeah," Beckett said superficially.

But he didn't want to go. He never ever wanted to go.

* * *

Nearly a month more passed by and still they hadn't talked about it. Every time he closed his eyes, every time he lay his head down on the pillow the only thought in his mind was her lips on his. She was _right_ there, and yet she was so far away. His head was hurting; his life was spinning out of control; his world was going blurry and he found himself operating on autopilot; going through the motions in the most mundane, ordinate way until he could no longer think straight. His limbs tingled with anticipation, wanting to touch her, to feel her skin under his fingertips, yet he was absolutely numb. And at night… at night he lived vicariously through his writing, pounding his fingers hard on the keyboard, trying to force his frustration out on the lives of Nikki and Jameson.

_Heat Rises_ was sitting on his editor's desk, waiting to be read, while he began writing his next book_._ He wasn't sure how much longer he could live like this, a bomb on the edge of explosion, one poke away from detonating on the people around him.

He was thinking of calling his next (and most likely final) book _Frozen Heat,_ completely unaware of the irony in the title.

Because, not days later, Nikki Heat would nearly freeze to death.

He didn't realise how bad off they were until a couple of hours into their real-life "Frozen Heat". That was when the silence kicked in.

Kate had stopped shooting the door, stopped pacing uncomfortably and muttering obscenities, just _stopped_ as the cold off the freezer walls set in_._

They were both sitting—sitting against the wall in their inevitable fate of _waiting,_ waiting for death, an ending Stephen King would have envied.

Although Kate was someone who usually scared the shit out of him and everyone around him, now she looked so _small,_ so _fragile,_ and now he was more scared of losing her.

He had pictured a world of gruesome deaths, _seen_ so much death, stabbings, GSW, asphyxiation, drowning, but never, not once in his horribly twisted, disgusting mind, had he pictured her dying first.

He had to admit it to himself at some point. He was stocky, strong, built like an ox and as scary as she was, he towered over her in size. She had a small, bird-like figure that, while it did wonders for her in a fight, wouldn't help in the battle against freezing as much as his.

He could see icicles on the tip of her nose and he could almost picture her, waiting for him at the gates of Heaven (honestly, he would've accepted the fire of Hell with open arms as long as it would warm her up), arms crossed at how long it was taking him to catch up, and the storyteller in him tried to keep the thought alive, tried to keep it warm and save it, _hey, maybe you could write this into a book. Heaven Heat,_ he thought jokingly, but the rest of him tried to shun it. There would be no more Nikki Heat, no more Jameson Rook, no more nothing.

Because this… this was the end. He tried to think of some kind of way out, some kind of hail-Mary safety play, last throw, but there was nothing. No way out, no wide-receiver open to catch the ball.

"I'm s—I'm sorry," he choked out.

Beckett turned as much as she could to look at him. He kept his arm tight around her shoulder, trying to keep her warm. "For what?" she whispered harshly.

"F—for being me. Going rogue. Getting you into—into this. If we hadn't gone—gone rogue…" he stuttered, feeling the icicles sink on his tongue.

"Oh, shh. Castle, no. Okay? Shhh. You were right. We found the bomb. We were just too late, okay? Castle. Thank you… for being there," she said.

He wanted to say something… something about all the times they had, something to sum up everything they'd been through, but all that came out was, "Always." And that felt like enough.

"I just want you to know how much I…" Kate started, but she passed out halfway through her sentence.

"Hey, Kate," he said, shaking her pitifully. "Stay with me. _Kate._ Stay with me."

* * *

It had been almost a year since they froze in that tank; a year since he'd held her so close to him, a year since Javi and Kevin had rescued them, and yes, a year he'd spent wondering about what she was going to say. Part of him thought he'd dreamed it, being delirious and already unconscious, but _no,_ there was still a tension between them from that night, that unspoken awkwardness that sort of settled upon their shoulders.

Almost a year until the old man visited again.

He should have reacted when he saw the flashing light. Montgomery's funeral was sad enough without a sniper. But no, he stood there, waiting to see what happened next, and because of it, Kate got shot. He had liked to think that, when he tackled her, he had saved her life by causing the bullet to miss her heart, but who was he kidding? He had hesitated, and he tackled her too late.

There was a commotion around him, people ducking and calling the police and running after the sniper, but it all sounded like white noise.

He felt her under him, felt her _blood_ soaking his shirt, and the voices around him got louder, but he didn't care about anyone else. Just Kate, lying below him.

"Oh, Kate. Shh. Kate, please," he mumbled. "Stay with me, Kate. Don't leave me, please. Stay with me, okay?" The words came mindlessly out of his mouth as he saw her lying there, and something burst in his throat. Words that he thought would never see the light of day began to bubble over in his immeasurable panic for her life. "Kate," he pleaded, "I love you. I love you, Kate."

And then her eyes closed. And she didn't remember a thing.

* * *

Another year. Another long ass year where Kate was oblivious to how he felt about her. He couldn't remember a time when his chest wasn't heaving in nerves and pain, when he wasn't watching her stumble blindly into a world that was bigger than she could fathom, when he lived in fear that every breath would be her last. She (supposedly) didn't remember that day and he wasn't willing to bring it back up, but it hurt. Every time she was hindered by the bullet wound in her chest, every time she had to stop because she was fatigued, it played with his heartstrings, and he felt so guilty, so damn _guilty_ for letting that ass-hole shoot her. And now she was playing with fire again. And he had to do something about it.

The second he was in her house, she was talking about their case. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he listened to her speak, knowing that she was lying to him.

She continued speaking, oblivious to the fact that he wasn't listening.

"Kate," he interrupted.

She shook her head slightly and continued to speak.

"Kate," he said, this time more sternly.

Suddenly, she snapped out of her haze. "What's wrong?" she asked, looking concerned. For a moment, he didn't want to tell her. He wanted to sink away into the shadows and never come out, let her live her life in peace, but he knew he couldn't do that.

He closed his eyes, hiding the pain from her, and he cleared his throat. "You have to stop," he said roughly, his voice feeling like barbed wire running across exposed skin. "Th… th… this investigation… you have to stop."

Kate smiled and looked up at him, her eyes melting holes in his brain, causing him to momentarily lose his train of thought. _No. She's in danger. Focus._ "Castle, we already talked about this. I'm _fine._ I'm in control"

"No," he said, feeling emotion seep through his voice as he shook his head, "you're not. They are." Suddenly, he felt his voice soften in concern for his partner. "And if you don't stop, they will kill you, Kate."

She frowned, the innocence, the _ignorance_ of the situation showing on her face as she smiled a little, shrugging. "What are you _talking_ about?"

_Now or never,_ he thought to himself. He took a deep breath and plunged in, afraid of what he would find below the surface of unfamiliarity. "Before… before Montgomery went into that hangar, he sent a package to someone… someone he trusted. It contained… information. Information… damaging to the person… behind all this." His voice cracked. "Montgomery… was trying… to protect you." He closed his eyes, not wanting to look into hers. "But the package didn't arrive until after he'd been shot." The shallow breaths were coming in stronger now as his chest felt heavier and heavier. "Montgomery's friend… struck a deal with them. If they left you alone… the package and the information inside would never see the light of day." He took another breath. "But they made one condition, you had to _back off._ And that's the reason… that you're alive, Kate. Because you stopped."

He saw her take a breath, her eyebrows knitting together and her eyes filling with fear, fear of his knowledge. "How did you know this?" she asked. _No, Kate. Don't ask that question._

"In order for the deal to work," he said quietly, "someone had to make sure you weren't pursuing it."

"Are you a part of this?" The words came out barely a whisper, choked from the dead of night. Her eyes were filled with disbelief, hurt, and tears. She looked so scared, and it make him want to hold her, to hug her and tell her it would all go away.

But he didn't.

"I was just trying to keep you safe," he whispered back, pain bubbling in his throat. _I'm so sorry, Kate. I'm so sorry._

She took a step back, walking away from him. "By lying to me? About the most important thing in my life?" The pitch of her voice was rising to little-girl tone, and he felt as though there was something inside him that was about to burst, something that was about to explode. He was treading the fine line of new-territory dynamite, and right now, the feather had just fallen off of his tricorne hat and into the danger zone.

"That lie was the only thing protecting you," he whispered.

"Castle," she said, looking him in the eye. "I didn't need protection. I needed a lead, and you _sat_ on it for a _year._ Now who is this person—how do I find him?"

He shook his head, looking at his feet. "A voice on a phone—a shadow in a parking garage."

"You met with him?" she asked, voice completely dull. The lack of emotion made him nervous, because this was when Kate Beckett was most dangerous, most likely to detonate. "How do you know that he's not behind my mom's murder—how do you know that he's not involved? And how the _hell_ could you do this?"

Suddenly, something burst in Richard Castle's mind. The words began to overflow, to run out of his mouth as fast and as strong as he could bear. His head fell back on his shoulders in defeat, eyes misting as he proclaimed, "Because I love you, Kate."

And he really did. Even after all this time, all these lies, all the betrayals, he still loved her passionately. She could pull out her Glock and shoot him in the heart and he would never stop loving her. He loved her so purely, so immensely, with every fiber of his being, and he would never let that go, not until the day he died. He may marry someone else, or five someone elses, but he would always love her. Because she was Katherine Houghton Beckett, and it was in his DNA that he was in love with her. His heart beat the song of her, humming along to the rhythm of her tune. Because that's what love is. It's standing by someone, unconditionally. It's the person you make your stand with; who will, in turn, stand by you always.

They both sat there, in a moment of uncomfortable silence where she let the shock set in. Yes she knew that, but having him say it to her face was a bit… different. "But you already know that, don't you," he said in defeat. "You've known for about a year."

"Are you kidding me?" she said angrily, and he stepped back in surprise. _Yes, Kate. I'm completely fucking with you. I don't give a damn what happens to you._ "You're actually bringing this up _now_, after you told me that you just betrayed me?"

"Kate," he said, his voice was low and gravelly, "listen to me—"

"Listen to you?" she asked. "Why should I listen to you? How am I even supposed to trust anything that you say?"

That was the tipping point for him. "How you s—? Because of _everything_ we've been through together!" he practically yelled. The emotion was seeping through his voice in an uncontrollable manner. _No going back now._ "Four _years_ I've been _right_ here! Four years just _waiting_ for you to just… open your eyes, and see that I'm right here… and that I'm more than a partner. Every morning, I—I bring you a cup of _coffee_ just so I could see a smile on your face, because I think you are the most… remarkable… maddening… challenging… frustrating person I have ever met. And I love you, Kate, and if… if that means anything to you, if you care about me _at all_, just don't do this," he pleaded, letting every final thought he could think of spill out, voice wet with emotion like honey on pancakes and he just couldn't feel anything anymore.

Unlike him, Kate was on fire. She was angry. "If I care about you?" she asked, tears beginning to spill over but her voice not wavering. "Castle, you cut a deal for my life like I was some kind of child. My life. Mine. You don't get to decide."

He closed his eyes in defeat. _That's it, then._ "You keep going with this," he said softly, "they're gonna decide. They're gonna come for you, Kate."

"Let them come!" she announced. "They sent Coonan, and he's dead. They sent _Lockwood,_ and he's dead. And I'm still here, Castle! And I am ready!"

"Ready for what?" he asked. "To die for your cause? This isn't a murder investigation anymore, Kate. They've turned it into a war."

"If they want a war, then I will bring them a war, straight to their doorsteps."

He looked around, and in that moment, he made a decision. "Well I guess there's just nothin' I can say, is there? Okay," he said breathily, "um, yeah. You're right, Kate. It's your life. Throw it away if you want, but I'm not gonna stick around and watch you, so this is, um, over." He closed his eyes yet again, forcing himself not to cry until he was out her door. "I'm done."

His voice blundered over the words, tongue slipping up on every slur, trying to stop him from what he was about to do.

* * *

The third eye watched her as she neared falling, slowing his heartbeat down, causing every last 'thump' to count, pounding in his throat. He had no clue why he was so scared, so poised on the edge of unconsciousness, but all he could see in his mind was _her._ Her lips on his, her hands on his shoulders, her breath brushing against his hair, causing it to rustle on his scalp in a way so minty fresh he though after a million showers he would never not smell like Kate Beckett.

He sulked in his apartment, writing the next chapter of _Frozen Heat_, unaware of Kate, clinging for her life to the side of a building, screaming and sobbing and calling for him, _Castle, Castle, Castle._ Not Ryan, not Esposito, _Castle._ And although she knew in her heart he wouldn't, she had to hope for her knight in shining armor to come and save the day.

But he wouldn't come.

The prince usually didn't come after the princess fucked up this bad.

* * *

His eyes burned. His back ached. His stomach rumbled with hunger, yet he still didn't move. He was determined to finish _Frozen Heat_ before the pain set in. He found himself playing with the most delirious endings, and the one he was settling on was Nikki turning rogue and killing Rook.

"Dad?" A voice called. He blinked for the first time in what felt like years. "Dad, are you in here?"

"Alexis?" he called, expecting her to be somewhere else. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for graduation?"

He heard her chuckle. "I still have several hours," she said, smiling as she stepped into his study.

He looked up at the clock. "Oh," he said, assuming more time had gone by than actually had.

Alexis frowned at him, smelling the brittle coffee and nasty smell of three days of not moving. His plaid shirt was all in array, his hair was a muffled mess, and the dark circles under his eyes were painted on so large that he looked like a raccoon.

"Dad, are you okay?" she asked, sitting down opposite him.

He smiled a little at her. "I'm fine," he said. "Just fine."

"Dad, if it's something she said to you, you have to understand, sometimes it's healthy to cut strings with people," Alexis said, her voice cracking a little from tiredness. "You spent every day for four years in that precinct, and everyone knows that it isn't about the books anymore."

He sighed. "Yeah. I suppose so."

* * *

His baby girl was growing up. Richard Castle sat there, smiling as teachers who he barely knew spoke about school, life, and so many things he wasn't listening to, just waiting for Alexis to take the stage.

Eventually, she did. She started out strong, talking about memories and life as it passed, but suddenly, she stopped. She stood up a little straighter, eyes growing wanderlust and smile fading into wise grin. She locked eyes with her father as she moved to the next portion of her speech.

"There is a universal truth we all have to face, whether we want to or not, everything eventually ends. As much as I have looked forward to this day, I've always disliked endings," she said quietly, looking right at Castle. "Last day of summer, the final chapter of a great book, parting ways with a close friend." Kate's face popped into his mind instantly. "But endings are inevitable. Leaves fall, you close the book, you say goodbye." Suddenly, he felt tears begin to well in his eyes. _When did she get so damn smart?_ "Today is one of those days for us. Today we say goodbye to everything that was familiar, everything that was comfortable. We're moving on."

He took a deep breath. She was right. He needed to let go.

But then, she added another line. "But just because we're leaving," she said, looking back towards her father again, "and that hurts, there's some people who are so much a part of us, they'll be with us no matter what. They are our solid ground. Our north star. And the small clear voices in our hearts that will be with us… always."

At this point, he was biting his lip, trying to keep the tears from falling. It was like she was speaking straight to him, answering every question he had ever asked about the world and he had absolutely no idea how she knew exactly what to say.

He smiled and stood as he cheered for his daughter. She was growing up, and soon she would be gone. She was his beautiful girl that he had, admittedly, never imagined having, but could now not picture his life any other way.

She was Alexis Castle, and he was more than proud to call her family.

* * *

It was over. He was done. He had deleted her file. He had said his goodbyes. He had been declining calls from Ryan and Esposito all evening, deciding _no. Tonight was Alexis's graduation, and I'm going to enjoy the remnants of my alone time. I'll call the boys tomorrow and tell them goodbye._

It was with a sense of completion that he let out his next breath. His shoulders sagged and a weight lifted off of his chest; a certain finality beat with his heard. As much as he hated to admit it, it _was_ a good ending. He was free.

He wasn't sure what he was going to do. Maybe he'd move to the Hamptons permanently, or maybe somewhere further, like Malibu, or London, somewhere to keep things interesting. After all, he had a life to live now.

But then there was a knock at the door.

Castle cautiously came to the door, opening it softly. He saw a figure, soaking wet and looking so forlorn as it stared back at him.

He was looking at Kate.

He looked down in dismay. "Beckett, what do you want?"

"You."

He backed up in surprise, and suddenly, she was _there._ Her lips were on his and it was all that he could do not to melt. She pulled back and all he could think was, _come back._ But no, she didn't.

She kept mumbling something, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." And he just wanted to shake his head and whisper, _No. It's okay. It's all okay, Kate. I love you and it's all okay._

But he didn't. He had to keep his head straight, or he would lose himself in her, and never be able to find himself again.

The rain outside was so loud and he swore he could hear piano music flooding in from the person living below him. The salty smell of New York rainwater was on Kate Beckett's clothes, but it didn't quite wash away the smell of cinnamon soap, and all these things put together made her practically irresistible, if she hadn't been already.

He looked down at his feet, forcing his eyes away from the caramel-colored murals that he was staring into.

"What happened?" he asked quietly, forcing himself not to look up. He felt his voice wobble and shake out of fear, fear of what would come, fear of killing their relationship, and most of all, fear of what he _wanted._

"He got away," she responded, and he almost expected her to turn right out that door and chase after him again, that this was all some kind of horrific joke, but she didn't, "and I didn't care."

He felt a light frown grow on his face, but he didn't say anything.

She licked her lower lip slightly (which usually drove him crazy, but he was refusing to look up at her face). "I almost _died_," she continued, and then he looked up at her. He saw light and wonder in her eyes as the smallest of smiles on her face, and concern filled his mind. He didn't want his beautiful Kate to die. He wanted to keep her, lock her away and protect her from harm.

But Kate Beckett wasn't the kind of woman that you just _protect_. She is one of the strongest, bravest, most kick-ass women in the world. If anything, _she_ was the one doing the protecting.

Her next words, however, made his heart skip a beat. "And all I could think about was _you._"

She looked down a bit, and he thought he would die right then and there if he couldn't kiss her. "I just wanted you," she whispered.

She looked up, as if she was going to kiss him again, but she stopped, their noses touching.

And he did something he had wanted to do for so long. He slammed her into the door, and _kissed_ her. He put his hand in her chestnut hair, running his thumb down her cheek, and oh God he _kissed_ her. He caressed her and he touched her shoulders, hands running through her hair, and Jesus Christ it felt _amazing._ He had to stop as his hands reached her blouse, stop and think for a moment.

He froze, his face feeling loose and his lips feeling practically _numb_ from all the kissing, all the making up for lost time they had to do. His heart was beating so fast he felt it would literally jump out of his chest, and he loved her so goddamn much and she was right _here._

Every bit of anticipation, every bit of tingling and feeling in his body all spread to his lips, so that the energy exploded like a supernova when he kissed her, and he could feel nothing else but that. For so long, he had wanted to kiss her, and now that he was, it felt like nothing else in the world.

He thought his shoulders were going to cave in, that the supernova would implode, but the world could come crashing down and he wouldn't care. Because Richard Castle was kissing Kate Beckett.

She _was_ beautiful. Everywhere her lips went, on his cheek and down his neck, left a trail of tingling energy, leaving the supernova behind and spreading down onto his shoulders.

He unbuttoned her blouse, running the back of his hand down her collarbone. He saw the bullet wound in her chest, the one that would have killed her. _I should have taken that bullet for you, Kate._ The pain of that night flooded into his mind, but she kissed it away, filling him with an inexplicable feeling of hope that he hadn't felt before.

The sound of violins joined the piano; it was becoming a symphony, rather than just a few notes tapped. Or was he just imagining it all?

His lips reunited with hers, and he could feel a smile growing on her face as his hand slipped from her face down to the side, entwining with hers.

He pulled back and looked into her eyes, shallow breaths coming from his mouth as he realized, _Holy shit, I just kissed Kate Beckett._

* * *

He spent the first bit of the morning in a dream. He lay on the bed, something soft and warm lying against him, and a smile was on his face as he drifted in and out of sleep.

At around 9:30 or so, he drifted out for a second and felt cold air blowing against his bare leg.

He sat up, giving himself a head rush, and looked around.

_Jesus Christ, was it all a dream?_

He looked around his bed, ruffling the covers and looking for the woman who had been lying next to him an hour ago.

_I swear she looked_ just _like Kate…_

Suddenly, a figure appeared in his doorway. At first, the bleariness of an early morning made everything look fuzzy, and all he saw was an angel. She was wearing a white dress of sorts, and her beautiful, light brown hair cascaded over her bronze skin.

He blinked, and the vision readjusted. A woman (no less beautiful than the one he saw a moment ago) stood in front of him, wearing not an angel's dress but his white-collared shirt. She held two coffees in her hand, and the biggest smile adorned her face.

His heart leaped out of his chest, and a nervous smile grew on his face. _Kate,_ he thought to himself. _Holy shit, it's Kate!_

"Made you a coffee," she said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

He smiled broadly, feeling a happy sparkle grow in his eye. "So it wasn't a dream," he said softly.

"No," she said, chuckling nervously. "We _definitely_ weren't dreaming."

She took a seat at his feet, and he almost closed his eyes and passed out at the wafting smell of her.

"Well," he said, smiling, "you were right." He bobbed his head. "I had _no_ idea."

"So you liked it?" she asked nervously.

Almost immediately, he said, "Yeah," nodding his head enthusiastically.

"Even the part where—"

"Especially that part—I love that."

She smiled. "Good. Me too."

"So," he said, leaning back a little, "you're—you're on board with this, right? It's not some… 'Oh, I quit my job, I almost died, I'm in crisis,' thing."

Kate stuttered a moment, concern on her face. "Uh, no, not for me," she said, frowning, afraid he was going to kick her out, afraid it was all a one night stand sort of deal.

Fortunately, he was hoping for something more… _long-term._

"Okay," he said enthusiastically, voice still droopy with disbelief. "Me neither."

He smiled at her as she whispered, "Okay." She smiled back. "Good."

"Good," he said, nodding.

She pursed her lips a little, smiling, and his heart fluttered like a 14-year-old girl. "But I, uh, did just quit my job. And, I do have the day off."

He smiled. "Yes, I do, too."

"Oh," she said. "Really?"

"Yes," he smirked. His heart began fluttering faster. It seems theoretically impossible to be self-conscious around someone after you've just _had sex_ with them, but this was Kate Beckett. He's honestly still a little afraid that he's dreaming. That he's going to wake up and she's still going to be pissed off.

"So," he said, reaching up to pull his shirt off her shoulder as casually as he could, "so what would you, um, like to do today?"

She smiled. "Um, I don't know. We could… read."

"We could watch TV," he joked.

She laughed. "We could get something to eat," she said with a shrug.

"We could do that, yeah."

"Yeah."

She smiled as he leaned in to kiss her.

Suddenly, he heard a bang, and then a voice. "Richard?" it called. "I'm home!"

"Oh my God!" he exclaimed, pulling Kate off the bed with him. She let out a squeal and fell to the ground. His _mother_ was home.

* * *

For once, life with Kate Beckett had been going well. They were deceiving everyone, "a room full of detectives, and nobody had a clue."

But then came the idea of dating other people. It's a well known fact in the industry that Richard Castle is a player, but somehow, it hurt Kate more now that she realised how special he was.

He had to admit, this was the first time he had ever felt _guilty_ about going on a date with a woman. Kate's puppy dog eyes were starting to kill him.

"I shouldn't have gone on a date with her!" he exclaimed as he barged into her home. "I should've said no!"

"Then why didn't you?" Kate responded angrily.

"I'm no good at this!" he said, gesturing loudly with his hands. "Pretending to be single!"

Kate scoffed. "Yeah, well neither am I! And the last thing I wanna do is have to _worry_ about you with other women."

He stuttered a little, "Well, for the record, I… I wasn't gonna _sleep_ with her."

Kate frowned. "I—I know." There was an awkward moment of tension until she turned away, leaving him emptier. "Look, that's not even the point! The point is… I don't even know how to do this! Do you remember when Miles said that it's inevitable, that this will fall apart, that it's _destined_ to _implode,_ that—"

He cut her off. "Just… a reminder… Miles is a lying killer, but okay, maybe, people find out, so we won't… get to work together, and maybe we'll implode, or maybe, we'll continue to be amazing! Thing is, we don't have the answers, we just have to live with the questions and… find our way."

She smiled a little. "'Kay, can we just start here, then. Can we say that we'll _talk_ about dating other people, but we won't actually _date_ other people?"

"Yeah," he said enthusiastically, "no I can do that."

"'Kay," she said again, smiling innocently. "'Cause I have a gun, and you don't really have a choice."

"Clearly I don't have a choice," he said, and he wasn't talking about the gun.

"No," she said, laughing innocently, and he smiled down at her, taking in her naive beauty, and savoring it.

* * *

Now, as a mystery writer, Castle didn't really get "hard days" when it came to workplace troubles, considering he worked from the pleasure of his own home, but since dating Kate, he had come to learn of many of the fallbacks to working in a public office.

No inter-office romance.

No doubt, it was hard for them both. Half of him wanted for every last moment of his life to be consumed by _her_, her hair, her eyes, her lips, her hands, everywhere on him. He just wanted _her._ But the other half, the other half of him was perfectly content with just staring at her face, not wanting to move, just to lose himself in her eyes and wake up fifty years later to find the world changed, but her eyes would stay the same.

Especially after a long case, he just wanted to kiss her, and he wanted her to know that.

"Yeah," she whispered back when he told her, "I know."

He stood for a moment, wanderlust, and then he offered his hand. "This is me," he said as she shook his hand, "softly touching your face, pulling you in for a long, slow kiss."

She smiled, taking the bait. She began to rub her thumb on the back of his hand, causing a chill like nothing else to run up his spine. "And this is me kissing you back… running my hands through your hair…"

"Best handshake ever," he said, laughing.

She smiled back. "Yeah."

* * *

There was, however, one thing he hated more than not being able to kiss Kate. And that was losing someone he cared about, even if it was to Colombia University.

"Oh, Alexis, my darling, farewell," his mother said, hugging her granddaughter tightly. "God knows when we shall meet again. That's Shakespeare, you know," she added eccentrically.

Alexis smiled at her gran's interesting ways. "I know," she stifled a laugh.

"All right, no farewells. Just, see ya later, kiddo."

She smiled again. "See you later, Gram."

"I'll be in the hall, darling," Martha said, looking down to her son, Rick.

"So…" he said, trying not to let the moment end, trying to hold the tears back, and most importantly, trying to stay strong, "this is your new home, huh?" She nodded softly. "Hey, look," he said. "I get it. I do. But whatever happens between Becket and me," he started, not wanting to admit the next sentence, "I want you to know—I mean we could break up tomorrow—we could spend the rest of our lives together—but she will never take your place in my heart," he said, and he meant it honestly. Many people have the misconception that when someone else comes into your heart, that there is less love for them, but that was so untrue. It just meant that there was more love to give around.

"Why would I be worried about Detective Beckett replacing me?" she asked honestly.

"Uh, well—you act—I thought—"

She chuckled. "How can you be so smart and so clueless at the same time?"

"Practice," he said immediately.

Alexis smiled up at her dad. "This is no more about Beckett than it's about the fact that my mother isn't here."

"Sorry, honey, but you're mom, she's in—"

Alexis cut him off, unwilling to hear about her mother. "No. No, it's fine. It's always been fine, because no matter what, I'd wake up, and you'd be there, and I'd know that everything's fine."

"And when you wake up here…" he trailed, trying not to burst into tears like a little boy.

"Then I'm here. And you're there. Even though it's only five miles away…" she takes a deep breath, "it's not here," she added, smiling, but blue eyes shining.

"Well," he said, trying to reassure her while taking a shaky breath, "everything is going to be fine. And you are going to be fine. And though I am there, if you need me here, here is where I'll be."

He stood up, kissing his daughter on her forehead, trying to let his pride flow into her, letting her know silently how much he loves her, how much he knows she is going to do well, and that even if she doesn't he will always be there for her, he will always be proud of her, and most importantly, he will always love her.

He began to walk out the door when Alexis said, "Hey, Dad?"

He turned around, looking back at her with a smile.

"I know it's been a while, but, um, could you do it… one last time?" she asked quietly, as if she was ashamed of her childish request.

He smiled, walking past her and checking under her bed, successfully managing to bite his lip to stop the flow of tears from coming again. "No monsters," he reassured her.

"You sure?" she asked.

"Yes," he said calmly again, "and if there are, I'll come running."

He turned out of her room, and with his back to her, he heard a sniffle come from her nose, and that officially pushed his manly-limit, and now that she couldn't see him, tears began to run out of his eyes as he realized something. So many people believe that the world is constantly changing, constantly growing, but in that moment, Richard Castle didn't believe it. It's the people who change. The world just shapes us into who we become.

"Damn," he whispered quietly, chuckling through his tears. "I should write that down."

* * *

Sitting at home alone, fingering Alexis's old gold medal, now Richard was as close to crying as he would come.

"My little girl," he mumbled, reminiscing in all the old memories they had shared together. He remembered the day she was born, when the doctors had first put her in his arms, saying, _"Would you like to hold her?"_ and when he did, she was so small he thought he'd break her. He didn't know how he could ever be a father, much less one with such an irresponsible mother like Meridith.

No, he would have to endure major life changes to become a suitable father, and, in retrospect, Richard Castle wouldn't change a thing.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him, as his mother stopped next to him.

"Alexis' moving out got me to thinking," she began dramatically. "And after many hours of soul searching, I have come to a decision."

Castle played along, but inside he held the fear that his mom would move out the same day his baby girl, and he would literally be left alone. "Have you now?" he said sarcastically.

"Yes," she responded, oblivious to his amusement. "I have decided, out of the goodness of my heart, that I will continue to live here—"

"Rent free," Castle interjected, but secretly, he was happy.

She sighed. "Please don't interrupt. I will continue to live here so that you, Richard… will never, ever be alone."

Castle pressed his lips together, trying to keep his laughter in. "You'll do that for me, Mother?" he asked, nearly giving away his ruse.

"It's a…" she trailed off, "parents sacrifice."

He smiled genuinely this time. Despite the dramatic flares and the (obvious) lack of rent, he really did like living with his mom, and he was grateful that she wasn't leaving too.

* * *

They had never really talked about Rick's old habits with other women. It was no secret that he'd had other girlfriends before, other flings and love interests, but he had never really been aware of how Kate _felt_ about it. The steel hide she had grown from being a New York cop caused her to hide what she was thinking, so her opening up to him made him feel even more special.

"It's just I can't help wonder how many… other girls have gotten this tour," she had said quietly.

Castle closed his eyes. "Well, I'm not gonna deny, that I've brought other women up here," he took a deep breath and grabbed her hand, "but, um, none of them were you," he said. And he meant it honestly.

* * *

Unbeknownst to Castle, Detective Ryan was on to his little secret, although Ryan didn't exactly know it either.

"What else did he tell you about him?" Ryan asked, looking his suspect down.

The man fidgeted nervously. "That's all I know. Everything else I told Brady and his two consultants."

Ryan frowned. "Two consultants?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, yeah. The writer, Castle and his girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?" Ryan asked, drowning. "Wh—wh—what do you mean, girlfriend?"

"What does it matter?"

Ryan slammed his paper down on the table. "Hey! Hey! I'll ask the questions here, pal. Are you telling me that Richard Castle brought his girlfriend in your interrogation?"

Nervously, he felt an opinion begin to bubble in his chest. No. _No._ _No. Way._

"Yeah," he affirmed.

Ryan gulped a little. "What was her name?"

"I don't remember."

"Well, then describe her." The suspect hesitated, and Ryan slammed the table again. "DESCRIBE HER, LERNER! NOW!"

"Okay!" Lerner exclaimed. "Tall, uh, uh, medium length hair. What's this about?"

Ryan's breath began to feel short, burning a hole slowly through his chest. "Wh—what color? G—give me a hair color," he said. _Surely,_ he thought, _it isn't her._

"Uh, brown—brown. Brown eyes, too. I think. Really pretty."

He felt the breath begin to grow stale in his lungs as he held it. _I don't believe it._

"Body type?"

"Awesome," Lerner said, filling Ryan with disgust. "I mean, awesome. She was like thin, gorge—she was hot. She was really hot." Suddenly, she snapped his fingers. "Kate! Name was Kate!"

Ryan felt everything freeze except the breath in his chest, which burned hotter and hotter with each growing second. He felt his chest expanding, in shock, horror, anger, embarrassment, every emotion he could possibly imagine. It was like he was standing on a rug, and he had trusted this rug his whole life. The rug was his safety blanket, and he had learned to walk on this rug. Then, suddenly, the rug was pulled out from under him.

Shock began to flood through his veins, filling him with a burning sensation as his chest expanded, feeling on the verge of breaking. As a cop he had learned to cope with surprises, but this, _this_ was big.

"Son of a bitch," he mumbled, unable to coherently say anything else.

Richard Castle. Was dating. Detective Beckett.

* * *

Danger struck again, this time in the form of a metal plate with a one-foot radius, similar to a scale, but this scale was deadly.

The 'click' he heard, he just wanted to picture that he had imagined it. He _did_ imagine it. No. This wasn't happening. She wasn't leaving him, not now. Not after all they'd been through.

"It's time to say goodbye," she said quietly.

Instantly, red flags and alarm bells went off in his head. _Goodbye? No goodbyes. Never._

"Kate, I'm not leaving," he assured her, trying to wear a broad, _Richard Castle_ smile. But inside he was shaking. They had been so close to death, so _many times._ He supposed their luck had run out, _but why did it have to be NOW?_

"Castle, you promised you would help me with something when the time came," she coaxed. "This is it."

He felt his heart beat a little faster in his chest. "Beckett, no," he said quietly, holding onto the hope that she would step off that plate and that he'd be standing right here when she did.

"Please, Castle, please don't make this any harder than it needs to be," she said quieter than before, and they stood, staring at each other in a moment of awful tension. Her eyes were locked onto his and he could feel emotion and pain seeping in the form of tears away.

"I… I wish I… could kiss you… I wish… so many things," he finished.

"No," she said, smiling sadly, "there's no regrets. All in all, I think we've had a _great_ run." Like before, the symphony was back and louder than ever, and he wanted to box his ears to make all the noise go away, all the noise except her voice. "You should go."

Feeling a gaping hole growing in his chest, he turned around, knowing that nothing he said would let her let him stay.

"Rick," she called, and he stopped. She never called him Rick, not unless it was serious. He was always _Castle_ to her. "I love you," she whispered.

Throughout it all, he found the courage to smile. "I love you, too," he whispered back, the soft smile cracking the dried tears on his cheeks, only to have new ones fall and fill in the crevices.

Before he stepped out, she whispered, "Always." _So it wasn't a dream. Freezing in that storage container. She heard me._

The word was a sign to him. It meant that everything would be okay.

* * *

He had had the ring for months now. It was a heavy weight in his pocket, a pulling force that was holding him down to earth. Abandonment had always been something he struggled with, having been abandoned by his mom, his dad, both of his ex-wives, even Alexis left for college.

The gossip was that Castle had commitment issues, after all, he had gone through two wives in such a short amount of time, but it was really quite the opposite. Kate was the one with the commitment issues and he was the one with the abandonment issues, it was questioned constantly by tabloids how long the relationship would last, and really, it seemed impossible, but somehow, they managed to make it work.

So when Castle found out that Beckett took the job… he wasn't sure how he would react. _Agent_ Beckett didn't have that ring to it. She would always be Detective Beckett to him, long after she had left New York.

But she wasn't leaving without him. He was sure of that.

* * *

He had been sitting on the swing set for nearly three hours before she showed up. She showed up on time, of course, but he needed a bit to think. Even still, with the three hours of thought behind him, he still had no idea what he was going to say. The weight of the ring in his pocket was heavy, and he wasn't even sure he was going to _use_ it.

"I'm sorry," was the first thing out of her lips. He didn't look at her, but he could feel her presence as she sat down on the swing next to his. "I shouldn't have kept secrets."

Still having no idea what he was going to say, Richard Castle opened his mouth, allowing the spontaneous writer in him to take over. "It's who you are," he said quietly. "You don't let people in. I've had to scratch and claw for every inch," he finally turned toward her, mind veering down the 'break-up' path, but he knew that wasn't where the conversation was going to end up.

"Castle, I—"

"Please let me finish."

She nodded a little, and allowed him to continue. "I've been doin' a lot of thinkin' about us—about our… relationship, what we have, where we're headed… I've decided I want more. We both deserve more."

He could feel the guilt radiating off of her as she said coldly, "I agree." He could practically hear the fear of his next words.

He took a gulp, plunging his hand into his pocket and reaching for the ring. "So whatever happens," he said, voice quavering, "whatever you _decide…_ Katherine Houghton Beckett," he said, getting off the swing and on his knee, seeing shock reel on her face, "will you marry me?"

* * *

Richard Castle said that he killed off Derrick Storm because he "knew exactly what was going to happen every moment of every scene." He was bored with his own life. He knew exactly what was going to happen, exactly what he would do next. It was party, write, and party again.

Of course, that was until he met Kate Beckett. Now, his life was full of twists and turns, full of mysteries and surprises.

And he couldn't wait to find out what happened next.


End file.
